


Behind Closed Doors

by hermajestysatan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gang Violence, Gangs, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder, Musician Semi Eita, Post-Time Skip, Sorry Not Sorry, but it’s only mentioned, please don’t ask what compelled me to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermajestysatan/pseuds/hermajestysatan
Summary: Semi swallows thickly. It’s all piecing together now. And he doesn’t like it. The proof is echoing throughout his mind, too loud, too loud. It’s like the ringing that assaults his ears after one of his gigs, but it doesn’t leave behind the pleasant, buzzing sensation of a successful performance and chanting crowd.Shirabu got into a fight. Again.But it was a big one this time. One that was more than physical. This time, something important was on the line.OrShirabu is part of a gang Semi left years ago. One night, something goes wrong, and Shirabu runs to Semi’s house for help. Except, once he gets there, he refuses to answer Semi’s questions.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Kudos: 45





	1. What a Lockpick Hides

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thank you to anyone that clicked on this, it’s my first fic on ao3 :) i hope you enjoy!

Semi jumps when the doorknob twists. But the door doesn’t open.

There’s no knock. And he hasn’t invited anyone.

Frowning, Semi stands.

So then who…?

He steps towards the door cautiously. One hand strays to the gun he keeps in his belt. 

Something clangs against the doorknob, and it pivots halfway around. Again, though, the door stays closed.

Semi’s eyes narrow. He advances to look through the spyhole--

The door gives.

Clicking off the safety, Semi pulls back and aims in a single, smooth movement. 

“Shirabu?”

Brown eyes meet Semi’s for half a second before landing on his gun.

He lowers it.

“Sorry,” Semi says quickly. “I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.”

Shirabu doesn’t reply, doesn’t even take off his shoes as he pushes his way inside.

Semi blinks after him. Shirabu’s eyes are glassy, like he’s holding back tears. Slowly, he closes the door, double checking the lock. 

“Hey, is something wrong?”

Again, no answer. Shirabu just makes his way up the stairs.

Semi squints at him, reevaluating his form as it ascends to the second floor. Draped over his shoulders is a huge sweatshirt, and Semi thinks he can see the stain of dried blood beneath his fingernails. Dread churns in his gut. The hoodie is ripped up, threadbare. It must be new because he hasn’t seen it before, but it doesn’t look new. 

It looks like it’s been with Shirabu his whole life. Like it’s seen every one of the fights he’s gotten into.

“Did something happen?” Semi pushes, voice quieter this time.

He tracks Shirabu up the stairs, wishing it was annoyance instead of an overwhelming sense of doom that lay in the pit of his stomach at his lack of response.

“Hey,” repeats Semi sharply.

Shirabu flinches. For a second, his stride stalls. From this close, Semi can see how he’s shaking. 

Blood drains from his face. 

Semi reaches out to grasp his shoulder and turn Shirabu into him, but he’s moving again before his fingers can even brush against the sweatshirt. 

Fuck.

Semi’s hand falls to his side, fist curling in frustration-- and alarm. His stare drops to the floor. To Shirabu’s shoes. 

Semi swallows thickly. It’s all piecing together now. And he doesn’t like it. The proof is echoing throughout his mind, too loud, too loud. It’s like the ringing that assaults his ears after one of his gigs, but it doesn’t leave behind the pleasant, buzzing sensation of a successful performance and chanting crowd.

Shirabu got into a fight. Again.

But it was a big one this time. One that was more than physical. This time, something important was on the line.

Shirabu’s shoes are scuffed. Muddy, like he’s been running in them.

They’re not shoes meant for running. 

And then a door is being slammed in Semi’s face, and he’s left standing outside the guest room of his own house.


	2. To Be Lost at Home

Semi waits. Listens for Shirabu to start moving around and let him in.

He doesn’t. 

Panic, cold and sharp like a needle strikes through him. His throat tightens.

Tentatively, like it might burn him, he knocks on the door.

“Shirabu?” His voice catches weakly in his throat. He clears it and tries again. “Shirabu? Open the door.”

Shirabu doesn’t answer.

No. No no no no.

He knocks again, knuckles striking against the wood. 

“I said to open the door, Shirabu.” There’s no room for argument in his tone. It’s a tenor he’s perfected over the years to make sure people are listening to him.

But Shirabu has never listened to Semi. Not when it counted. And he was too stubborn to bend to something like this.

Swearing under his breath, Semi slams his entire palm flat against the door. 

“Shirabu!” He yells, temper rising to override the fear. “Open the goddamn door right now and tell me what the fuck happened to you.”

The other side of the door remains silent. Tears burn the backs of Semi’s eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes as he tries to persuade -- threaten -- Shirabu into coming out. A litany of phrases roll off his tongue, hot with fury and terror. Some are repeated, others a desperate fumble of words.

“Get out here and talk to me!” 

“I swear to God, Shirabu, if you don’t open that door--”

“What the hell happened?”

“Tell me what you fucking did!”

In the end, his voice gives. The shouting did little to help, anyways.

“I know you can hear me,” calls Semi tiredly.

The door is thin, a small barrier between Shirabu and himself. Semi almost threatens to knock it down, but he wouldn’t do that. The damage would cost too much to fix, and besides, it’s near impossible. He’d have to aim under the doorknob, and if he’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t been training as much as he should be. The strength put behind the kick wouldn’t be enough to get the door down anyways.

Distantly, he wishes Washijo-sensei had taught him to pick locks the way he’d taught Shirabu, but Semi hadn’t been cherished the way he had. Their coach didn’t favor Semi enough to teach him lockpicking. Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem, but now… 

He’s left staring, locked out of a room in his own house. Exhausted, Semi leans his forehead against the wood.

“What happened to you, Shirabu?” He whispers faintly.

His throat is sore from screaming. It’s a feeling Semi should be used to by now, being a singer and all, but currently, it just burns and burns. Like the angry tears that have started slipping down his cheeks. 

(It’s not anger, it’s worry. But Shirabu doesn’t need to know that, and Semi isn’t ready to admit that to himself. It could mean too many different things, none of which he wants to face.)

He’s going to burn out. Light himself up from the inside and blaze until that tiny ember of fear in his stomach sears right through his body and incinerates everything around him. 

Slowly, Semi slides to the floor. His entire body slumps against the door, the closest he can get to Shirabu at the moment, like it’s given up. 

“What happened?”


	3. His Secrets, Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi so sorry if this ends up kinda bad, this def isn’t my best work bc I lost inspiration halfway through lol

On the other side of the door, Shirabu clenches his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. His body aches, knees knocking together from running for so long. As soon as he makes it into the room, he slumps onto the bed, ignoring Semi’s demands for an explanation. He jumps when the pounding on the door starts.

Hot tears trickle from his eyes. Desperately, he attempts to suppress them, to hold them back just a little longer, but now that he’s alone - now that he’s safe - the true weight of everything that has happened to him that night cascades onto him. It crushes his chest, tightens his throat. He swallows hard, as if that could stop the torrent of tears that have already started flooding his vision, one last effort to curb them until Semi leaves.

Semi doesn’t leave.

“I know you can hear me,” he calls.

Shirabu sniffles.

Pathetic, a voice in his mind berates. Coming all this way to make sure he’s okay just to hide from him as soon as he tries to speak with you. Pathetic.

The wounds on his body ache as he sits up. He has to move slowly, careful not to jostle them.

Outside of the room, Semi whispers something Shirabu can’t hear. Stiffly, he stands and limps towards the door.

“What happened?” Semi breathes. His voice is weary, so unlike the demanding tone Shirabu is used to hearing from him.

Weakly, Shirabu’s fingers release from the fists they’ve curled into. He’d thought they'd have gone numb by now, the bruising across his knuckles severe. Instead, they throb. Red paints them, a mixture of raw skin and ripped up flesh. They contrast with the brown of dried blood beneath his broken fingernails. The swelling across his knuckles compels him to ice them, but that would mean leaving the room. And facing Semi. 

So he remains inside the room, away from the man he’d ran home to. Lightly, Shirabu touches the door. He brings his hand eye-level, like he wants to see the ruined tips of his fingers.

Like he wants to see the reminder of the violence, of the pain he’d caused. All to protect Semi.

And Semi didn’t even know.

He’d left the mob years ago, fleeing as soon as he paid off his debts. In search of something better, something that didn’t require violence, he had turned to music.

Shirabu had stayed, not believing there was anything else for him to do. He lied to himself, to make it easier, claiming he was at home with the mob. He wasn’t, but it was an easy lie to believe. Especially when the higher-ups gave him constant praise, always reminding him how reliable his work was, how they needed him to keep business running smoothly.

So Shirabu continued working for them, trying not to let the number of murders he was paid to commit bother him. It didn’t really; he’d become numb to it all even before Semi had left. 

And then he’d overheard what his bosses were planning on doing to Semi.


	4. Keep Him Safe, Lock Him Out

The higher-ups hadn’t treated Semi well when he was part of the mob, taking him for granted and only giving him the cheap-paying jobs. His skill set, as much as he hated it, was better than that. Semi killed easily, quickly. His work was alarmingly thorough. They’d kept him down for fear of the threat he might pose to them.

Nevermind the fact that he had no interest in taking over the mob.

Once he’d left, those cheap-paying jobs started piling up. No one was ordered to get them done, and people weren’t exactly volunteering, either.

And now the bosses wanted Semi back.

“He can work for us or we can ruin his career,” they’d whispered amongst themselves. “There’s no way he could ever continue as a successful musician if his fans knew about his past.”

They spat the word musician like a dog spits out medicine that isn’t mixed well enough into its dinner. 

Shirabu knows Semi thinks he got into a fight. But it wasn’t a fight. It was a pure, cold-blooded massacre. And there were only two possibilities for what would happen once the other members found out.

If they found out. 

Because part of the reason why Shirabu had been held so close to the mob leaders was how well he got rid of evidence. No one, not even him, would have suspected that would ever be used against them. 

But if he was discovered, they’d be after him. The chances of his fellow members letting him go unpunished were low to zero-- although he really, really hoped that’s that’s what they would do.

Shirabu leans his head against the door, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes. They burn tracks down his face. Trembling, he chokes back a sob.

He can’t tell Semi. At least, not until he cleans everything else up. Not until he’s sure Semi will be safe.

Semi left the mob years ago. Shirabu wasn’t about to ruin that for him just because he’d fucked up big time.

No, he concludes. He won’t tell Semi. Determinedly, Shirabu vows to keep him out of his mess.


	5. Don’t Speak Your Lies

It’s silent throughout the house when Shirabu rises the next morning. 

Still early, he thinks. Good. That’s good. Hopefully, Semi will still be asleep, and he can leave without any trouble.

Cautiously, Shirabu’s hand closes around the doorknob. He twists it quietly, slowly. A complete contrast to what he’d done last night when he’d fumbled with his lockpicks at Semi’s front door. There’s no sound as he starts to open--

Semi crashes straight into the guest room floor. He’s jerked awake by his own yelp, bolting upward the second he bounces against the wood. For a second, Semi and Shirabu stare blankly at each other.

Semi blinks, brows furrowed. And then he straightens, eyes widening in some realization or other that Shirabu doesn’t want to hear, and moves to stand up. 

Violently, Shirabu snaps back to himself. He needs to leave. The promise he’d made to himself last night -- to leave Semi out of this -- echoes through his mind. Stepping over Semi’s scrambling form, he rushes down the stairs, making for the door.

A hand closes around his wrist just before he makes it out. Shirabu freezes.

“Shirabu.” Semi’s voice is rough with sleep. It has the quietness of one still lost in the daze of fresh morning light. “Where are you going?”

“I need to leave,” replies Shirabu coldly.

He twists his wrist, easily dismantling Semi’s grip the exact same way said man taught him. It’s immediately replaced with both hands tightening around his forearm. 

Shirabu sighs, and finally, finally, after a night of avoidance, turns to face Semi.

Semi looks terrible. He looks gorgeous.

Shirabu swallows drily.

Semi’s hair is flattened on one side from where he’d been leaning against the door all night. The other is a tangled mess, probably mussed from Semi running his hands through it. His eyes are rimmed red -- from crying or not getting enough sleep or both, Shirabu doesn’t know. They squint at Shirabu through the early rays of dawn filtering through the windows.

“Tell me what happened,” he says.

And Shirabu realizes his voice isn’t raw from just waking up. It’s raw from the screaming he did last night.

He steels himself. Pulling his arm back, Shirabu starts to unlock the front door. Semi’s hands remain where they are, wrapped around his wrist.

Huffing through his nose, Shirabu levels Semi with a stare. 

“Let go.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not.”

“I can’t.” As if to emphasise his point, Shirabu tries one last time to remove Semi’s grip.

To not avail. He’s clinging on, stubborn. 

“Semi,” Shirabu snarls, exasperated. 

Semi raises a brow. “Don’t think I can’t still beat you in a fight just because I don’t do that shit anymore.”

Wincing at the reminder, Shirabu looks away. The words ring, a siren assaulting the ears of a street too weary to deal with it.

At that moment, Semi finally relaxes his hold. Fingers still lingering over Shirabu’s skin, his face softens in sadness. 

“At least let me give you something to eat,” he implores. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Shirabu almost snorts at the words, but the hurt on Semi’s face silences him. He swallows, resolve cracking.

In a small voice, he agrees. “Okay.”


	6. How to Forgive a Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here’s the last chapter! this one’s a little longer than the rest. thank you to everyone who stuck through this with me. i hope y’all have a happy new year!

Shirabu fiddles awkwardly with the spoon Semi hands him, absently swirling his cereal around in its bowl. He should be hungry, having already missed a meal last night, but tension keeps his appetite at bay. He knows Semi wants to ask, the way he eats just a bit too fast indicating his worry.

And Shirabu breaks at last. His spoon clangs against the bowl, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

Semi’s head snaps up, eyes sharp on his. Shirabu keeps his eyes fixed on the contents of his meal. He should have known it would come to this.

They know each other too well. Shirabu couldn’t have held a secret -- especially not one like this -- from Semi forever.

“They wanted you back.”

Dead silence. Semi is quiet for so long, Shirabu almost looks up to check if he’s heard him right.

“What?”

Again with that startlingly quiet voice. Shirabu hates it. Hates what it signifies. 

“The bosses,” he explains. “They needed someone to carry out your old jobs, but no one was available.” He lifts his stare, meets Semi’s. “They wanted you back.”

Voice still low, Semi says, “I understood that part.” There’s a pause, the speed his mind is working at visible in his eyes. “What do you mean they wanted?”

A snake curls around Shirabu’s throat, constricting, cutting off air. This was the part he’d been dreading.

“What did you do, Shirabu?” Semi pushes. 

His knuckles turn white. Desperately wanting to disappear, Shirabu ducks his head again.

“I killed them,” he whispers.

An answering ring clatters from the other side of the table. When Shirabu raises his head, Semi’s face is white. 

Brown eyes wide, voice faint, he asks, “All of them?”

Shirabu can’t speak. He can only nod numbly. His mind races, thoughts too loud, too loud, but he can’t slow them enough to piece any words together. Nothing but a feeble apology.

“I’m sorry,” says Shirabu.

He blinks. His voice sounds so far away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

But what else could he have done? Despite being a favorite, Shirabu had no sway over the bosses. He wasn’t even supposed to have heard that conversation. Asking them to leave Semi alone would have ended in both their deaths. And yet, he wanted Semi to be proud of him. He wanted to be good enough for Semi. Semi with all his stoic stubbornness and rare sincerity. How could a murderer like Shirabu ever reach his standards?

And then strong arms are wrapping around him, and Shirabu’s being dragged back to the present.

“Semi?” He asks, confused. “What are you--”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.”

And for a second, anger strikes through Shirabu. Because how can it be okay? How can it be okay if he quite possibly just evoked his own death?

How can it be okay if Semi’s death comes right along with it?

But the anger surrenders to exhaustion. He’s so, so tired. 

So Shirabu lets himself slump into Semi. He lets himself fall apart.

The tears come fast and hard, nothing like last night when he’d been trying to silence them.

It takes forever or a minute for him to calm again, and when he does, Semi is still there. Like he always is. 

Wiping at his tears, Shirabu straightens, suddenly self-conscious. He pulls himself out of Semi’s embrace and immediately regrets it afterwards. Semi, for his part, also pulls back, fidgeting with his hands.

“So what are you gonna do?” Shirabu asks weakly, keeping his gaze averted. “Are you gonna run?”

Semi snorts. Surprised, Shirabu glanced up. 

“Shirabu,” says Semi. “I’m not gonna run. You really think I’d leave you in this mess?”

Heat rises to Shirabu’s cheeks. He shrugs.

“You left,” he replies shakily. “I thought you were done with the mob. I thought you were done with the… violence.”

The word tastes sour on his tongue. 

A broad, calloused hand lays over his own.

“I am done with violence,” murmurs Semi. Shirabu stiffens. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt more people than I had to.”

Biting his cheek, Shirabu digs his fingernails into his palms, eyes flashing towards the door. He shouldn’t have expected Semi to help him -- shouldn’t have even hoped for it.

“Leaving you would be hurting you, Shirabu. I’m not going to do that.”

Well. That wasn’t what Shirabu was expecting. Slack jawed, he turns towards Semi. Surely, he must’ve heard wrong. 

“What?” 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Semi repeats gently. “Neither of us can change the fact that you killed so many people. Hell, you killed the bosses. But we can’t change that. So I’m going to stay, and I’m going to help you figure this out.”

Stupidly, Shirabu breathes, “You’re forgiving me?”

Slowly, gaze angled cautiously on Shirabu, Semi nods. Recovering from his shock, Shirabu meets Semi’s stare.

And, eyes still glistening with already-fallen tears, he shakily smiles back.


End file.
